


Love and Other Drugs

by alpha_exodus



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Consensual Love Potions, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Past Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Porn with Feelings, Post-Break Up, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 01:25:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11025675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpha_exodus/pseuds/alpha_exodus
Summary: It takes five minutes for the love potion to kick in. That part goes smoothly enough.But it takes a lifetime for Bitty to stop thinking about Kent after the fact.





	Love and Other Drugs

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a sad story about love potions and this is it.
> 
> (Note that there's a passing mention of thoughts of non-consensual love potion use.)
> 
> (This will probably eventually have a happy ending. <3)

Bitty expected some sort of mystical vial, or maybe a shady-looking plastic bag. But when Parse sets the drug in front of him, it’s in a regular yellow-and-white medicine bottle, just like the kind Bitty gets for his allergies at the school pharmacy.

“You were going to use it on him.” The words cut from Bitty’s own mouth like a sword, and he hadn’t even planned them. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling right now: rage, maybe, or something like righteous dismay.

There’s no trace of the overwhelming sorrow he’d felt earlier that day, this whole week, this whole month.

At least Kent Parson is fucking good for something.

Parse looks away. “I—okay, yeah. I was. But I didn’t. I’m kind of a fucking coward, you know.”

“God, stop it,” Bitty grits out, staring down at the little bottle. “Why are you even telling me this? He was my _boyfriend_.”

“But he’s not anymore,” Parse says, and it still hurts, worse than getting checked on the ice, worse than his helmet flying off and the concussion that kept him from playing for almost a whole summer.

“Yeah. What does it matter?” Bitty says, even though his brain is still leaking despair like blood from a wound, _your fault, your fault, it was your fault he walked away_.

“Because I—fuck. I know. How it feels.”

Bitty can see from the corner of his eye that Parse is trembling, but he doesn’t look up at him. “Sure.”

“I do! Just—fucking listen, would you? I mean. Hell, I’m sorry.” Parse hangs his head. He looks like shit, honestly, maybe even worse than Bitty feels. “Look. I know how it feels when he—when he leaves. And—stop me if that’s not what happened to you, but. He never even tried to text me once, after the draft. I called him so many fucking times, and he never picked up. And it makes you feel like the worst person in the world, you know?”

“I guess,” Bitty says. He’s bitter. That’s the emotion he’s feeling right now, bitterness about Jack fucking Zimmermann, bitterness about Parse, who had texted him out of the blue (having gotten his number from who _knows_ where) and invited him out to dinner.

It’d taken the entire meal, tucked away into a quiet corner booth, before Parse broke the silence—

To tell Bitty that he’d bought a fucking love potion.

“I shouldn’t have tried to talk to you,” Parse says. He sounds less bitter than Bitty feels. Maybe even sad. “I’m sorry.”

There it is again. _Sorry_ , from Parse’s lips to Bitty’s ears.

It’s more than Jack had ever said to him.

Maybe, just maybe, he should be giving Parse a chance.

Just like that, some of his rage pulls back, recoiling into a dull simmer. He opens his mouth, throat thick with what feels like mud, or maybe cement. “I—I’m sorry, too. I haven’t been being real polite to you. I’m just really… ugh.”

“Depressed? Annoyed? Grudgingly attracted to the hot hockey player sitting across from you?”

Parse says it all in a deadpan tone, so the joke comes completely out of left field. Bitty almost forgets to glare at him.

Almost.

“Just the first two, thank you,” Bitty says.

Even though the third part is true too, to some extent. Parse _is_ hot. Bitty would rather die than admit it.

“Sorry,” Parse says. “You know, I’m not really like, that self-centered. It probably seems like that from interviews and stuff.” He shrugs it off, but even though his actions appear carefree, he still looks stiff. He’s been stiff the whole time they’ve been sitting here, like there’s some sadness inside him clawing to get out and he has to hold it in with all of his strength.

Or maybe Bitty’s just projecting. Either way.

“God, I would hope you weren’t,” Bitty says, and forces a laugh. It comes out lighter than he’d expected, like maybe he’d been having fun and hadn’t really known it.

Parse laughs too, then clears his throat. “So.”

“So,” Bitty says, then looks down at the table, at the remnants of his chicken marsala (which would have been really excellent if he had actually been able to taste it). “You brought me here to tell me you were going to drug my—my ex.”

“I wouldn’t have done it while you were dating him.” Parse’s brows scrunch together defensively. “I wouldn’t really have done it anyway. The second I bought the stuff—I just. Felt like shit. So.”

Bitty raises his head, squinting at Parse. “Wait—you aren’t trying to sell it to me, are you? Because—no. Never.”

“No no no,” Parse shakes his head quickly, looking moderately horrified. “I’m gonna throw it out after this, seriously. I just—it’s kind of a weird story. I didn’t want you to think I was completely unhinged or something, thinking that this kinda thing would work without any proof.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Bitty says. He reaches forward and picks up the bottle. It’s labeled with some sort of complex chemical name that Bitty can’t even begin to pronounce, and there are enough pills in the bottle that it rattles when he turns it over to look at them through the bottom. “How do you even know it works? Seems fake.”

“You can get a disgusting amount of stuff in this world if you have enough money,” Parse says, his nose wrinkling. “I checked with multiple sources. People will tell you anything if you pay them enough. It’s the real deal.”

“There are so many of them,” Bitty says, and then he makes himself put the bottle down so he won’t fidget with it.

“They don’t last very long. You have to keep taking them for it to—work. Otherwise it just wears off.”

“Oh,” Bitty says. At least it seems like Parse has done his research. “So you’re just gonna throw them away?”

“Fuck yeah. I don’t want ’em anymore. When I bought them I wasn’t—in a good place. It’s been better lately, and I don’t like to think about how I felt back then.”

“If you don’t like to think about it, then why did you tell me all this?” Bitty asks quietly, the words slipping out, tumbling down into the air like a waterfall. It’s what he’s wanted to know this entire time, _why, why are you doing this?_

Parse swallows, looks away. “I, uh. Wanted to make sure you were. Okay?”

“Um. What do you mean?” Bitty asks, a strange ripple of surprise in his chest.

“It’s just. He made me feel really awful, all those years ago, and I just… wanted to see how you were doing. I wouldn’t have told you anything if you seemed like you had moved on and shit.”

Parse seems less guarded than he’s been the entire time they’ve been sitting here, like they’ve moved on to the main course and Bitty’s finally able to dig into the meat and bones of the man across from him.

He’s shocked that Parse even cares. Bitty would’ve been more than jealous, he thinks, if he were in Parse’s situation. Hell, he didn’t feel any sympathy for Parse up ’til now, not at all. Parse literally had to come and wave a comparison of their situations in his face before he’d realized just how fucking similar they are.

He wonders if that makes him a bad person. He was blinded by love before, maybe.

But he shouldn’t be surprised. History tends to repeat itself, after all. And he’s not blind anymore.

“That’s kind of you,” he says honestly. “I—did you think it would help?” He asks the question even though it _has_ helped, somehow, without him even realizing it. He feels more at peace than he’s felt in weeks.

“Well, I mean. It wasn’t entirely selfless of me, I guess. I wanted to be able to talk to someone about—about him, and about this,” he says, gesturing at the bottle of pills. “It’s not something I could just bring up with my teammates. You just—understand better.”

“Yeah,” Bitty says, and swallows against a sudden wave of loneliness. In the year since he’s graduated, he’s grown further and further apart from his friends. Working his ass off in the bakery job he managed to land in Boston leaves him barely enough time to catch up on Twitter, let alone carry on text conversations, and that made the widening gap in his relationship with Jack so, so much worse.

He realizes that he never replied to the text Lardo sent the other day. He should. He will, right after he leaves the restaurant.

Probably, anyway.

Perhaps sensing the lull in their conversation, the waiter floats by with their check, which Parse takes without hesitating. “You don’t want dessert, do you?” he asks Bitty.

“No, I’ve got pie at home,” Bitty says, and Parse nods and passes the waiter his card.

“Lucky.”

“You could’ve gotten dessert if you wanted it.”

“I didn’t wanna keep you here. Kinda awkward, yeah?” Parse raises an eyebrow.

Bitty snorts. “Point taken.”

Minutes later, Parse is signing the receipt, and Bitty is staring at the little bottle of pills again.

“What’re you thinking?” Parse asks.

“It’s so _weird_ , that something like this even exists,” Bitty says.

“Isn’t it?” Parse says, picking up the bottle. “I’d be tempted to try it myself, just to see how it felt.”

“Why don’t you?” Bitty asks, setting his chin in his hand. “Nothing’s stopping you.”

“Well, it’s not like I have anyone who would _want_ me to be in love with them,” Parse snaps, sourness leaking through in his tone. “I guess I could grab some hockey fan, but that’s just, like, all sorts of awful.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Bitty says, shame pricking at his throat. “I didn’t think about that... I guess the potion’s gotta have a target?”

“I told you, it’s just a drug. It’s not magic,” Parse says, and he doesn’t roll his eyes but it seems like a close call. “But anyway, yeah. You have to be touching the person when you ingest it or it won’t work. Skin to skin contact.” Parse sets the bottle on the table, then takes a finger and flicks it over so that it rolls on its side, skittering over to rest beside the salt and pepper.

“Sounds kinda—kinda interesting, actually,” Bitty says.

He’s intrigued, despite himself.

Intrigued and sad and far more interested in Kent Parson than he has any right to be. And deeper than that, he’s so, so tired of being lonely. He’d do anything to make it go away, to stop feeling like his chest is being crushed inwards, to have someone who looks at him like Jack did, because maybe then it’ll feel like Jack wasn’t the only one in the world who could love him—

So maybe he’s hinting at something.

It’s dangerous and crazy and probably illegal, but what if—what if?

Parse must see something in Bitty’s eyes then, because his eyebrows shoot straight up. “You’re not suggesting we—?”

“No!” Bitty says on instinct, probably a little too loudly for the room they’re in. He glances furtively around the restaurant, but no one seems to have noticed his outburst.

“Riiight,” Parse says, fixing him with an odd look. “I wouldn’t judge you. For thinking about it.”

“No, I know,” Bitty mumbles. He can feel himself flushing.

Strangely, when he looks up, Parse is flushing too. They didn’t have wine with dinner, so it must be the conversation, but Parse is looking at him with a sort of interest in his eyes that Bitty hasn’t seen in anyone since—well, since he and Jack got together.

“Would it be so bad?” Parse asks quietly.

The silence stretches between them like taffy.

_No_ , Bitty thinks. _No, it wouldn’t._

“I—shit. Don’t answer that,” Parse says, shaking his head. “That was out of line. Sorry.”

“You sure do apologize a lot,” Bitty says, and he’s mortified when it comes out sort of like a come-on.

Parse shrugs, seeming not to notice. “I mean, it’s warranted. We barely know each other.”

“But you don’t have to know each other for the drug to work, right? Um—theoretically, I mean.” Bitty wishes they’d had the wine. He could be braver, then, or care less about getting turned down, but really he’s already been turned down by the only person who’d mattered. He doesn’t have any reason to care.

“No, you don’t. Theoretically,” Parse adds, his lips quirking into a wry smile. “Though, I guess that’s kinda interesting. You’d think you couldn’t love someone without really knowing who they were.”

“It doesn’t take long to get to know someone if you’re both being honest,” Bitty says, and means it. He’s been more honest here than he’s been with anyone in the past month at all, at first because he was so, so sure Jack would come back, and then because he’d been crying so much he’d wanted to hide, and after that just because he didn’t want to hear everyone’s damn questions.

Parse was right. It helps, to talk to someone who understands.

“Hey, you know—um,” Parse says, and swallows audibly.

Bitty’s heart flips. “What?”

“We could, uh.” Parse clears his throat, looking nervous. “We could go home together without the drug, you know. We don’t have to use it—fuck, I hope I’m not presuming anything.”

The words burn, and Bitty can’t quite figure out why—maybe it’s the insinuation that it’s _just sex_ that he needs, because God, that’s not even the beginning of it.

He opens his mouth, searching for the right thing to say next. Eventually it comes to him. “I’m not asking for a pity fuck.”

Parse purses his lips, nodding. “I guess there’s not really a way that it wouldn’t be one, at least a little.”

“Yeah. And I—I dunno. I don’t think I would be able to forget about everything long enough for it to be any good.” He has to shut his eyes briefly, because even thinking about sex makes him think about Jack—he’s the _only_ person Bitty’s ever done anything with. There’s no one else to compare anything to.

“Makes sense,” Parse says, sighing. “But. If you took the pills.”

“If—if _we_ took the pills,” Bitty says, and it feels like a gasp of fresh air, to finally be able to put it out there. “Maybe I could forget for a little while.”

Parse says nothing for a long moment, and then he nods. “I get that.”

Bitty feels shaky. He clasps his hands under the table. “Only if you actually want to. I—I don’t want you to do this out of pity, either.”

“It might be a little bit. But it’s—it’s mostly because I want to,” Parse says. His voice cracks on the last word.

Bitty’s kind of in awe, because Parse seems just as nervous as Bitty himself is.

But then again, maybe he’s still just projecting.

“Okay,” Bitty says.

“Okay,” Parse echoes. He picks up the pill bottle.

xXx

They end up in the small apartment Bitty had rented after he’d moved out of Jack’s, out of the bedroom Jack had deserted for over a week, out of the place Bitty had called home for an entire year. His new place is cramped but it’s his own, at least, and the kitchen isn’t too terrible. Not that he really feels like cooking for fun anymore, now that it’s what he does for a living. But it helps.

“I would offer you a beer, but I think that would probably fuck something up,” Bitty says. They’re sitting stiffly on opposite ends of the couch. He can’t quite believe they’re actually doing this.

“Yeah,” Parse laughs slightly. “Water, though?”

“Oh—yeah, of course,” Bitty says, jumping up. “Sorry—my mind’s kinda all over the place right now, or I would’ve gotten you some earlier. Want anything else?” he asks, already on his way to the kitchen.

“Uhh. Pie, maybe,” Parse says, and laughs again. He sounds nervous, and maybe like he’s joking, but Bitty gets them a slice of pie and a glass of water each anyway.

He doesn’t eat more than a few bites off of his own plate, but Parse eats most of his slice, looking impressed. Bitty feels a small spark of pride in his chest. At least he’s still a competent baker, if nothing else.

When Parse is done eating, he looks over at Bitty, then slowly shifts closer on the couch. “Still okay?” he asks carefully.

“What? Yeah,” Bitty answers, even though his chest is tight and he kind of feels like hyperventilating.

“Seriously, if you don’t want to do this, just tell me and we can stop.” Parse licks his lips. He’s already picked up the bottle.

“I don’t want to stop,” Bitty says, and means it. “I mean, it only lasts for a little while, right? It’s not like it’ll affect us for more than, uh—?”

“Six hours.”

“—Six hours,” Bitty finishes. His stomach turns.

It’ll wear off before they wake up in the morning.

That is, if they actually make it to sleep.

“True,” Parse says. “Then, uh. Are you ready?”

Bitty swallows. His mouth is dry. “Yeah,” he says. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Parse says, but it still takes him a moment before he makes a move, unscrewing the cap off of the bottle and shaking out two pills into his palm. He hands one to Bitty. “We have to be touching for it to work,” he reminds.

“Should we—hold hands? Seems easiest,” Bitty says, even though his hands are both sweaty and probably gross to touch.

Parse nods. “Sure,” he says.

Bitty wipes the hand without the pill on his jeans as discreetly as he can, then flips his wrist over so he can slide it into Parse’s waiting palm. His heart is jumping erratically. Parse’s skin is warm and a little rough, his hand smaller than Jack’s, closer to the size of Bitty’s own.

Bitty can’t suppress a shiver. What are they _doing?_

“I—can we both take it at the same time?” he says, because the pressure is building and if they don’t do this soon, he’s going to feel even worse.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Parse says, holding up his pill.

Bitty uncurls the fingers of his other hand—miraculously, he hasn’t dropped the damn thing—and puts the pill to his lips. “On the count of three?”

“Yeah,” Parse says.

“Can you do it?” Bitty says, and it comes out as barely more than a whisper because his throat is getting tighter by the second.

“Yeah,” Parse says, and flashes him an amused smile. “All right. Three,” he starts, and Bitty’s heart pulses because it’s so _soon_ , they’re actually doing this, and then all too quickly Parse says, “Two, one… go.”

And Bitty puts the pill in his mouth, watching to make sure Parse does the same. It tastes vaguely fruity, but the flavor isn’t enough to hide the distinct taste of medicine, and they reach for their water glasses in tandem. Bitty laughs but remembers to keep his mouth shut at the last second.

When they’ve set their glasses down, Parse sits back and says, “So now we wait.”

“How long does it take?” Bitty asks nervously. He hadn’t accounted for the waiting time, for even more minutes of awkward silence, sitting next to a stranger on his own couch.

“Anywhere from five minutes to half an hour,” Parse tells him.

“Wait—you mean it could kick in early for one of us? I—um,” Bitty says, and he’s almost starting to panic but Parse squeezes his hand.

“Hey,” Parse says, “Deep breaths. It’ll be okay. This—it’s not gonna make us _do_ anything. We’ll feel differently, for a little while, but if you don’t want me to touch you, or do anything with you, I won’t.”

“Okay,” Bitty says, takes a deep breath and lets it out. He squeezes Parse’s hand back. “Okay. I—and if you don’t, I won’t either.”

“Good,” Parse says. Then he shifts a little, so that he’s turned more toward Bitty. “C’mere.”

Bitty accept the invitation and leans into him, rests his head against Parse’s shoulder and just breathes. It’s warm. Nice. He loves this part the most, he thinks, of any relationship—feeling comfortable enough to cuddle up with someone like this, to just relax and not think anything at all.

Or he wouldn’t be thinking things, if this was any sort of normal situation. “It hasn’t been five minutes yet,” he says, just to be sure.

“No,” Parse replies, but when Bitty turns his face into Parse’s neck, Parse lets go of his hand and slides his arms snug around Bitty’s body. “Just don’t pull away suddenly,” he murmurs. “Dunno how long we’re supposed to stay in contact.”

“All right,” Bitty says. He lets himself lean a little more into him. “Hey, um. Parse?”

Parse snorts. “You can call me Kent, you know.”

“Kent, then,” Bitty corrects. The name feels strange on his lips. “I thought of something that I don’t, um, want to do.”

“What is it?” Parse—Kent says, and Bitty can feel him tense up. He wonders what Kent’s getting out of this, if he’s mostly just as lonely as Bitty feels. He kind of seems like it.

“I don’t—I don’t want us to say we love each other if it’s—not. Real. You know?” The words are thick but he gets them out, and Kent squeezes him tighter but releases the pressure just as fast.

“That’s fair,” Kent says. “I won’t.”

Bitty hums in thanks, and then he shuts his eyes, letting himself feel Kent, the warm body beside him, holding him. “I’ve missed this,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” Kent says, “Me too.”

Bitty’s not counting minutes, but he can feel it when his heart starts to beat just a little faster—and then the yearning starts. It’s like falling in love all over again, except amplified a thousand times because Kent’s here, Kent’s holding him, oh God. A small, happy moan escapes him, and he’s so glad his face is hidden because he feels so flushed he can barely breathe.

Slowly, Kent starts rubbing his back. “How do you feel?” he asks quietly.

Bitty reaches back and finds Kent’s other hand, sits back so he can look at Kent’s face. “I feel—” he starts, and then really lets himself think about it.

Jack has left him. The thought comes so easily that it doesn’t even burn on the way down, because it’s okay, Kent’s here, Kent’s _here._

And—Bitty knows this will all be over in six hours. But that doesn’t matter right now. Lord, it’s like a weight’s been lifted off of his shoulders and he can finally breathe.

Kent’s looking at him and his face is soft, kind. How had Bitty never seen the kindness in his eyes before? But there’s a kind of fragile tinge to his smile, like he might break if someone pushed just a little too hard. Bitty wants—Bitty wants to hold him, and protect him, and be protected in return.

Lord, he’d sit here with Kent forever if he could.

Not that he’ll want to six hours from now, but. Still.

“Happy,” he says finally, and he’s frankly unsurprised when he feels tears spring to his eyes.

“Uh. Are you sure?” Kent asks, and he’s smiling but he looks worried.

“Yeah, I—Lord, this is embarrassing,” Bitty says, wiping at his eyes, heartbeat loud in his ears. “I happy cry sometimes.”

Kent chuckles. “Cute.”

“You’re lying,” Bitty accuses.

“No, really. You are cute.” Kent reaches up, wipes at a stray tear on Bitty’s face with his thumb, and—oh God, Kent’s face is really, really close.

Kent seems to notice the fact just as soon as Bitty does, because Bitty can see when his pupils start to dilate. “Kent—um?”

“Stop me if you’re uncomfortable,” Kent says, and he’s getting closer, closer, his breath hot on Bitty’s mouth.

Bitty shivers. “I’m not uncomfortable,” he promises, voice like rust. “I’m—mmm…”

Kent kisses him. It’s more sudden than Bitty expected but no less potent, and he clings to Kent’s body like a lifeline as Kent kisses him again, again, lips surprisingly soft and what feels like small sparks crackling between their mouths.

He can feel Kent’s touch all the way down in his veins, can feel Kent’s hands, hot and firm as they roam around his back, pulling him in deeper, deeper, until he’s dizzy from all the kissing and from something else, something even stronger than that—

_I love him_ , Bitty thinks.

And God, there it is. It’s just the potion, he knows that, but the knowledge that Bitty loves him, loves this boy sitting here and kissing him, loves Kent fucking Parson, Lord—that knowledge is too strong to ignore.

They break apart to catch their breath, and Bitty wants to tell him he loves him so badly it burns.

He hadn’t known he would feel this _much_.

“Wow,” Kent says, laughing incredulously. “That’s—fuck.”

“Yeah. I know.” Already, arousal is starting to stir in his bloodstream, pulsing almost uncomfortably between his hips. Bitty wants to be closer, closer to Kent, any way he can be, even if they just lie down with their clothes on—God.

“Is it warm in here, or is it just me?” Kent asks. He’s half smirking, and Lord, he must know how Bitty feels—hell, Kent probably feels just like Bitty does right now, doesn’t he?

“Might be cooler in the bedroom,” Bitty says seriously, and then Kent laughs and laughs and tugs him to his feet. Bitty can’t help the fizz of laughter that bubbles up out of his chest in response, and he stops and lets Kent kiss him again, again, again.

“I don’t… know where… I’m going, you know…” Kent says between kisses, so Bitty leads the way, tugging Kent over to the door of his small bedroom (which he belatedly wishes he’d cleaned earlier this morning).

But it seems like Kent doesn’t even notice the clothes strewn across the floor, because the minute they step into the room, Kent is on him, kissing him, pressing him up against the door frame until Bitty is whimpering at every press of their mouths.

“I—I,” he gasps, “Please.”

“You sure?” Kent asks, even though Kent looks just as disheveled as Bitty is. At some point Bitty must’ve mussed up Kent’s hair, because his cowlick is all askew. Bitty wants to touch it again and so he does, reaching up and sliding his hand through strands of hair that shouldn’t feel nearly as silky as they do.

“Yes,” Bitty says, his voice coming out husky. He laughs deliriously. “Are you sure this wasn’t a lust drug?”

Kent laughs too. “Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s just a side effect.”

“Side effect,” Bitty repeats disbelievingly, and then almost involuntarily he presses his hips forward into Kent’s body, _anything_ to get a little more friction, God.

“Mhmm,” Kent hums, and then he slides his hands down Bitty’s waist and onto his hips and pulls him so that Bitty can _feel_ Kent hard against him.

Bitty forgets anything that doesn’t have to do with getting Kent naked, now.

“I’m too warm,” he says, and it’s really true, he’s burning up in his jeans and button-down. “I gotta—oh God, okay.”

“This all right?” Kent asks, already on the second button of Bitty’s shirt.

“I—yeah, it’s good,” Bitty says, and then he lets himself lean against the wall and be undressed. He’d elected not to wear an undershirt today, and he’s never been more thankful for that decision when Kent leans down and starts kissing, sucking at the newly revealed skin on his chest. “Nngh,” Bitty sighs, “Yes, _Lord_.”

“Tastes nice,” Kent tells him, and then he beams up at him in a smile so pure that Bitty nearly wants to cry again.

Except then Kent undoes the rest of the buttons on his shirt and keeps going, _God_ , trailing his fingers down Bitty’s stomach and over his jeans, covering Bitty’s erection with his warm palm and squeezing.

“ _Mmph_ —” Bitty has to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from crying out loudly enough that the neighbors might hear.

“Still good?” Kent asks him, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

“Kent Parson, if you don’t keep going _right now!_ ”

“Then what? Gonna fight me?” Kent asks, but now he’s rhythmically pressing his palm up and down against Bitty’s dick and Bitty’s having trouble thinking about anything more than the best way to get his pants fucking _off_ as fast as possible.

“Yeah, I will,” he growls, and Kent laughs.

“Terrifying. My lover wants to punch me,” Kent says, but he’s finally, finally tugging at Bitty’s jeans.

“Am I your lover?” Bitty says, because that’s only a few letters off from ‘I love you’ and he’s not sure if Kent’s trying to get around their agreement.

“Well, if I’m reading the signs right, we’re probably going to end up fucking in the next couple of hours. I’d say that counts as being lovers,” Kent tells him, and it shouldn’t be sexy when he waggles his eyebrows as he yanks Bitty’s jeans down, _finally_ , but it is and _God_ , Kent’s on his knees now, mouthing the skin just above the line of Bitty’s boxers.

“I— _please_ ,” Bitty moans, pressing his hands back against the wall. He wants to put them in Kent’s hair again but he doesn’t want to hurt him, but then Kent starts mouthing at his dick through his boxers and Bitty’s hands are tugging at Kent’s hair before he can stop himself. “ _God_.”

“This what you want?” Kent asks him, grinning, thumbing at Bitty’s waistband.

“You’re a little shit,” Bitty tells him seriously, but then Kent chuckles and Bitty’s laughing, laughing.

This is—so _fun_. Bitty’s never had this much fun before, God. Sex with Jack was nice but it always felt like there was some sort of pressure in the mix, the pressure to perform, to encourage Jack with touches and words.

Kent is just doing whatever the hell he wants, and Bitty loves it. Loves him. He wants to kiss the smirk off of Kent’s face, wants to fuck him until Kent groans and shudders and grasps at him just like Bitty’s doing now—Lord, it’s intoxicating, the way he feels with Kent’s body on his.

“I’m going to fuck you after this,” he tells Kent, and Kent hums, dragging Bitty’s boxers down, helping him step out of them.

“Mm. Good. I’d hope so,” Kent says, then goes to suck at the skin of Bitty’s hip.

He leaves a mark. Bitty never knew he would think that was hot.

“Do that again,” he says breathlessly, and Kent grins and drags his teeth along Bitty’s hipbone, _God_ , sucks another mark just below the first one. “ _Fuck_ ,” Bitty sighs.

“Soon,” Kent says, grinning when Bitty gives him a look. “Now, maybe. God, you’re so hard.”

And then Kent’s touching him, stroking him with nimble fingers, ghosting his breath over the tip of Bitty’s cock. “ _Please_ ,” Bitty says, and he’s never had to beg so much but he wants it, wants Kent so badly he can’t remember when he didn’t.

“Beautiful,” Kent says, making Bitty’s heart pulse beneath his ribs. And then Kent takes him into his mouth, sucks him down, and Bitty sobs.

“ _Kent_.”

Kent pulls back for a moment, swirls his tongue around the head. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“God, I wanna be inside you,” Bitty groans as Kent bobs his head down again, taking him so fucking deep that Bitty swears he can feel it in his bones.

“Shit,” Kent gasps, pulling off. “I—fuck, can we do that? Now?”

“I—” Bitty tries to start, but his voice cracks. “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is,” Kent says, standing with a concerned look in his eyes. “You can do anything you want to me.” Then he tries to kiss him, but Bitty tilts his head away so that Kent misses.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if we weren’t—”

“Bitty, don’t,” Kent says, and when Bitty looks up at him his expression is pained. “I—I know. I know we’re pretending, but can we not—talk about it? It feels… really, really bad to think about you not feeling—ah, fuck. Never mind. Just—can we not mention it?”

“Yeah,” Bitty says, frowning in concern. “I’m sorry I brought it up.” He takes a deep breath, slides his hands up Kent’s chest to loop them around his neck. “You’re making me feel really, really good, Kent. In more ways than just, you know, the sex. So. It’s not like it doesn’t—mean anything. ’Cuz you are making me happy, and that’s better than I’ve felt in a long time.”

“Okay,” Kent says, giving him a small smile, and then Bitty kisses him until he’s grinning and it feels like the sun is rising in Kent’s eyes, the way he’s looking at him, all soft and affectionate in the dim lamplight of Bitty’s room.

“I’m—wow,” Bitty says, pulling away breathless, weightless, full of affection. “Jack… never let me do that. Fuck him, I mean.”

“Really? Shit,” Kent says, kissing him once, twice, and tugging him toward the bed. “You deserve better.”

Bitty sighs as Kent pushes him onto the mattress. “You’re—you’re right.”

It’s the first time he’s been able to admit that since Jack left him, and he’s high as fuck on a love potion.

But because it seems a lot like Kent needs the affirmation himself, Bitty tells him, “You deserve better too, you know.”

“I—” Kent stops, sucks in a breath, and tugs his shirt off in one smooth motion as he stands there over Bitty. “I guess you’re right.”

“I promise, you do,” Bitty says, watching raptly as Kent steps out of his pants and boxers. “I—fuck, you _are_ gorgeous.”

Kent snorts, climbing over him. “You sound surprised.”

“No, I— _nngh_ ,” Bitty groans as Kent starts to stroke him again, using one hand to brace himself. “I bought your _Body Issue_. I, uh, just assumed it was photoshopped.” Half of him had hate-read the damn thing, and the other half had been way too uncomfortably turned on to even be angry that Kent was so unfairly sexy.

And yeah, he’d jerked off to one of the pictures later, but Kent doesn’t need to know that.

Laughing, Kent lets himself fall sideways, laying next to Bitty. “Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’, grinning. “It’s all real. Wanna touch?”

“Yes,” Bitty says too quickly, a blush forming warm on his cheeks.

“Good. I thought I’d have to beg,” Kent says cheekily.

Bitty snorts. “God, I should make you.” But he doesn’t—he just slides his hand up Kent’s thigh, reveling in the way Kent shivers, and begins to trace nervous fingers over the soft skin of Kent’s cock.

“Oh, so _that’s_ what you wanted to touch,” Kent grins wider. “I thought you were looking at my abs, babe.”

“You like it!” Bitty squints at him, and Kent dissolves into laughter. Bitty can’t help smiling back. “Anyway. ‘Babe’?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“You have something against nicknames?” Kent asks breathily, arching into the touch as Bitty starts to stroke him more firmly.

“No, it’s… it’s just new.” Bitty shrugs, leaning over to kiss Kent, moaning softly at the heat of Kent’s breath on his face.

“Good new?” Kent asks, eyes half-lidded.

“Yes,” Bitty says, and then they’re making out again and Bitty lets himself dissolve into Kent’s body, warm and tender and God, _loving_.

After what could have been hours or a mere couple of minutes of kissing and pulling Kent closer, closer, skin on skin, hearts thrumming in their chests, Kent kisses his forehead and whispers, “Do you have lube?”

Bitty nods, feeling fuzzy, melted down into the warm, pulsing heat of _want_ and _need_ and _love_. He wordlessly pushes himself up to grab it from his bedside drawer, uncapping the bottle with hands that no longer shake from nervousness. It’s just Kent. His Kent.

His Kent for the next few hours, yes, but it’s starting to hurt to think of how in the morning Kent won’t be there any longer, Kent’s going to leave him too, God—

No. He can’t let himself worry about that. Besides, Kent is laying sprawled out beside him, grinning at him so easily, love in his eyes—Bitty can’t let this go to waste.

So he swallows down his anxiety and tilts lube onto his fingers, smiling at Kent as he lazily shifts his legs open for Bitty, all for Bitty. And then Bitty slides his hand down, presses a wet finger into Kent, and Kent throws his head back and groans.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Kent mutters, pulling his knees up for better access.

“You like it?” Bitty asks him, twisting his finger in and out slowly a few times before adding another.

“’S nice,” Kent says, his eyes fluttering shut. “I like you inside me.”

Bitty shivers, adds a third finger, lets his eyes slide over Kent’s body spread out before him, Kent’s face, smiling and warm. “You’re nice,” he says on impulse, and Kent laughs.

“Oh?”

“You’re just—you’re bein’ real nice to me. And you were earlier too, just. Nice. I, um,” he falters, blushing. “I just thought you should know.”

“Aww,” Kent says, reaching up and patting Bitty’s cheek. “You’re too cute not to be nice to.”

Bitty giggles deliriously. “God,” he says. “I want you.”

_I love you_ , he wishes he could say instead. But he settles for pulling his fingers out and slicking himself with lube, wiping his hand on a tissue and crawling on top of Kent. “You’ll have to tell me if I’m, um, doing it right?”

“It’ll be good because it’s you,” Kent tells him, and he says it so genuinely that startled tears well up in Bitty’s eyes.

“Sorry,” he says, laughing self-consciously and wiping at his face. “I’m kind of a mess.”

“No you’re not,” Kent says, skating his hand up and down Bitty’s back. “You’re beautiful.”

“Oh, hell,” Bitty sniffles, giggling. “You’re somethin’ else.”

“Thanks, babe,” Kent says, then presses his hips upward into Bitty. “Fuck, I want you.”

“Oh—sorry, I got, um, sidetracked,” Bitty says— _sidetracked by how perfect you are_ , _maybe_ —except that’s not a thing he should get into here and now, not when they’re running on limited time as it is.

Not when he might not even think it’s true by sunrise.

So he lines himself and presses in, whimpering at the hot, hot heat of Kent around him, slick and dizzying. “Mmph, oh—Kent,” he groans, and he’s trying to move slowly but Kent’s pulling his hips closer and it feels so damn _good_ it’s all he can do to hold on.

“Fuck, so good, yes, _Bitty_ ,” Kent says, and oh, oh.

It’s the first time he’s said Bitty’s name tonight.

He wasn’t expecting it to feel so nice, to swell his heart with love until he barely feels like he can hold it all in. “Kent… Kent, yes,” he murmurs, over and over again, and Kent groans in response, hands hot on Bitty’s back, his hips, his ass.

“I’m gonna—hang on,” Kent mumbles, fumbling until he can worm a hand between their bodies and start stroking himself.

And then it’s all too fast before Kent’s shuddering, crying out, clenching down on Bitty so tightly that Bitty sobs and comes too, spurting inside of him. “I, I—nngh, oh Lord, _Kent!_ ” His vision whites out then, a minute of pure bliss as the world narrows down to a small, hot spark at the point where his and Kent’s hips touch, pleasure charging through him in shockwaves.

“Fuck,” Kent groans, “That was so fucking good, baby, you were so good in me, so hot…”

Bitty takes a breath and forces himself to pull out, kissing Kent’s lips, his nose, and then collapsing beside him. “Mhmm?”

“…We should do that again,” Kent mumbles, though he curls up next to Bitty, pressing his face into Bitty’s shoulder.

Bitty laughs headily. “Okay,” he says. “Just gotta—catch my breath.”

He shifts, wrapping himself around Kent and repositioning the pillow beneath them. He’s sticky and almost too warm, but Kent’s skin feels good next to his, and he wants nothing more right now than to bury his face in Kent’s hair. So he does.

“You’re the best,” Kent mumbles into his skin.

“So’re you,” Bitty says, and means it.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep.

He’d wanted to stay up late, to cuddle with Kent and maybe have sex again and—just to talk, really, because Kent has said so many things that made his heart beat faster, things that are starting in just the smallest ways to repair the pieces of him that ripped apart when Jack left.

But instead, warm and comfortable, he falls asleep.

They both do.

xXx

When Bitty wakes up in the morning, he immediately feels disoriented and a little nauseous. He sits up slowly. It’s strange, he doesn’t remember getting drunk last night.

Then he turns his head and sees Kent Parson sitting on the edge of his bed, and the memories come rushing back to him.

Having dinner, negotiating, taking the pills, touching, fucking, loving, Kent, Kent, Kent— _hell_.

He wants to vomit.

Kent must notice he’s awake, because he turns to look at him, face blank in a way that should hurt. But instead Bitty’s numb, numb and tired enough that it feels like he’d barely slept at all.

“I—I should go, shouldn’t I,” Kent says slowly. It’s not a question.

Bitty squeezes his eyes shut. Yesterday morning, Kent Parson had been a near stranger, and then all in one night they’d taken that drug and had _sex_ , God, he’d been inside Kent, he’d been in _love_ with him—

And he’d known it all would end from the beginning. But that doesn’t make it any less of a surprise when he looks at the man on the bed with him and realizes that he feels nothing, nothing at all.

_God_.

He sighs, trying to ignore the emptiness in his chest. “Do you want breakfast?”

“Nah. Thanks, though.” Kent shakes his head. He’s still naked. Bitty feels almost embarrassed that he still wants to look at him, maybe even touch. But the connection they’d had last night is gone, and it’s starting to feel more than awkward to have Kent in the room with him, reminding him of how things were, how they aren’t anymore, how they’ll never be again—

“I can help you find all of your stuff,” he offers.

They dress in silence, and it’s not long before Kent’s out the door with a wave and a half smile.

So that’s done.

Bitty’s so glad it’s his day off.

But then he walks back into the living room, sits down on the couch, and spies the pill bottle sitting on the coffee table.

And only then does he realize that he’s truly, desperately sad—because God, this hasn’t helped _anything_. They slept together and Kent left and now Bitty’s alone again, just like before, and—and he _wanted_ to love Kent in the morning, he really did.

He just—doesn’t.

Why _doesn’t_ he?

God, maybe if he’d let him stay a little longer, they could’ve talked or hung out or _something_ , something more than this damn loneliness that’s been near-drowning him since Jack Zimmermann walked out of his life.

_Lord_.

He fucked up.

Bitter tears spring to his eyes, and he turns and presses his face into the couch arm. Now he’s more alone than ever, and it hurts somethin’ fierce to think about it, to think about sitting in Kent’s arms on this very couch, falling in love faster than it takes to bake a pie.

Kent Parson is a near stranger again, and he can’t do anything about it.

He shuts his eyes, clenches his fists, swallows against the knot of despair in his throat and hopes against hope that maybe, in some fluke of fate, Kent might decide to come back.

But he doesn’t.


End file.
